


Valentine

by Dragon_Mage



Series: Where We're From [2]
Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2018-11-05 21:34:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 18,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11022030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragon_Mage/pseuds/Dragon_Mage
Summary: Lingual and cultural misunderstandings make life difficult for a bunch of mercenaries from across the world. Things are all the messier when it comes to the concept of love. Being men of braun and gunpowder, accepting those feelings is difficult, but sharing them with somebody is even harder.Things are strange for Heavy Weapons Guy, as the man has a lot of love to give, but cannot catch a break between the men he wants to share it with.





	1. Scout vs Heavy

**Author's Note:**

> This whole story has been updated!  
> Don't worry, it has not disappeared. The whole thing was taken down so that I could refurbish it and reupload it.
> 
> I hope you enjoy the story!

Georgia 1938

This whole mess started with baked goods. Scout was sure that it started when the big guy, Heavy, decided to snatch his ma’s cookies while he was not around to guard them. Usually nobody bothered his things, but that one Heavy had to take them. Heavy argued that it was Scout who started it, stealing his mother’s home baked bread, shipped to him straight from Russia. Scout did not remember doing that though. That was something he would definitely remember doing.

They had been somewhat at odds with each other for some time before this. Most of the team typically stuck to their own situation, but after the unwanted exchange of mothers’ goods, they had turned to war.

It felt really good when the big guy got his come upping’s and was sent through respawn. It did not feel so great when it was Scout who was sent through respawn, and the Heavy was around to laugh about it. That was sore on his pride. He had to grit his teeth, clench his fists and move on, before he ended up starting a brawl.

Nobody else cared to lift a hand to stop their stupid war. Most of them just ignored it. Some took interest in watching them bicker and fight. They would get into it with a bat and gloves, battering each other while some teammates watched and cheered.

At the end of the day, it just felt like they went back to fighting again. It did not matter who won the battle, the war was never over. It would never be over.

Ma kept sending her cookies though. And with every batch, Scout became more and more wary of the Heavy. It was not even that he loved her cookies _that much_. He liked them, but he never would have thought he would fend off some rabid Heavy to keep them for himself.

Sometimes his cookies would disappear but the Heavy would refuse to admit he had eaten them. He claimed that he had nothing to do with it, and they would start fighting again. Between cheering and jeering, he started to wonder if his teammates had anything to do with missing cookies.

Then one day, he just stopped caring. His cookies went missing a few times. Then Sniper asked him whether he was mad about it. He simply said no. After a while, it just seemed to dissipate on its own – the war between them. Everybody eventually forgot, though Heavy seemed to be the first one to forget.

When it came to ma though, there was always something. Ma sent him cookies, but she always wanted things in return. But, she did not want _things_ per say. She wanted him to do things. She wanted his life to go a certain way.

She would not change his work, which she vaguely knew to be some sort of work guarding a thing. She would tell all of her friends that he was a security guard working for some big fancy company. She was proud, mostly because he got to work with big guns and dangerous people. At least she could say something about the child that did not go off to war.

But, lately she had been hinting at something else. Now that he was a grown young man – finally nineteen and not getting any younger, apparently – he needed to _settle down_ with a _nice girl_ and start a _family_. What a joke.

If only he could ever tell his ma the truth. He liked girls just fine. They were pretty, with nice hair, they smelled good with their perfumes, and they tended to be a lot softer. But, Scout did not connect with his past girlfriends the way he wanted to. None of them struck him as a person he would want to spend extensive time with, to cuddle with for long hours, and spend his life with.

He used to milk his friends’ time during relationships. Most of them seemed to be off in their own worlds with their girlfriends, _when_ they had girlfriends. **Scout** , on the other hand, would seek them out and spend as much time as he could with the guys, before he had to take a girl to the movies.

Sure the sex was worth the work and effort, but it did not sound like something he would want to try doing for the rest of his life. Best view he could see was marrying a nice girl, having some kids and then getting divorced because he could not handle her constant needs. It was always the same thing too, when he broke up with girls. He did not pay enough attention to them, he was always out with the guys, he never addressed the girls like they were sweet lovers holding hands. They would dump him over not being cutesy like the other guys were to their girls.

And then his ma got tired of hinting. She got tired of laying small bits and pieces of hints to drive him towards family life with a nice _girl_. She demanded that he get a girl that he could have an extensive relationship with, so he started describing a girl, the type of girl that he would like.

Then his mom got smart. She started asking him to have the girl send her letters. All because his mom wanted to _get to know_ her future daughter-in-law. How terrifying a concept that was.

So, Scout did what any rational guy would do in a situation where his ma was bothering him for a daughter-in-law and grandkids, he wrote a letter. Rather, he forged a letter that was supposedly from the girl of his dreams. He sent it to her in hopes of pacifying her and got back to work.

Her next letter arrived soon after his went out. It was as if she wrote quickly after his letter had arrived, all with the frustration she felt at the letter he sent her. She _**knew**_. She knew that it was a forgery and demanded that he send her a real letter.

The words on the letter were not like the sweet and buttery words she usually sent. It had been a long time since he had seen her, but reading her angry letter just reminded him of the angry woman he grew up knowing. It sent him into a flurry of panic, unable to control the flashbacks and the feelings of anxiety.

He ran around the base, trying to think of what to do. Spy tipped his cap to him politely, as he usually did. Sniper watched him in silence, as if curious as to where all of this pacing was going. Pyro jumped around and even tried to follow him, until he ran out of stamina. He just could not stop, until he finally did stop.

He had stumbled into Soldier, a veteran who had been discharged about a year ago. Still thirsty for the action of war, Soldier had joined _this_ war. When he looked Scout up and down though, it made the man’s blood boil, though nobody knew why.

“Get a haircut, hippie!” the Soldier growled at him.

“Soldier, I got a problem,” Scout blurted.

He did not know why he said that, and immediately regretted it. He did not want to talk to the Soldier of all people about his problem. He would have better luck talking to a bucket. This issue was just going to hammer him into the ground, what with the mistake he was already making of conversing about this with the guy in a bucket sized helmet.

“What’s your problem, son?” Soldier asked, his demeanor relaxing back a bit.

“I lied to my ma,” he admitted with a sigh, “She’s gonna kill me if I don’t get a girlfriend that can write her a letter!” Panic set in again and it became hard to breathe.

“Calm down, son!” the Soldier smacked him across the face, “Listen! I’ll tell you what.” He pulled Scout under an arm, drawing him close as if to speak in hushed whispers. Nothing was quiet though, as the Soldier never had a lower volume than his outside voice. “Here’s what you do. You get one of your barely literate or your foreign buddies to do it for you,” he said, “You tell ‘er you got a foreign girl who’s too gorgeous for words. Have ‘im write her letters and you’ll be set!”

Scout stared at him for the longest time. That sounded like the weirdest thing ever, but the most cohesive plan the Soldier had ever had. It was as if it had happened to the man before.

“Have you ever done this before?” Scout asked, curiously.

“Good God man! No!” Soldier exclaimed, “I never lie to my mother! God bless her soul! I watched a little pussy in France try to lie to his mommy.”

Scout sighed as Soldier laughed his way down the hall. He stood there, the angry letter still in his hands, as the anxiety dropped his insides into a pit of depression. He was blind to the world around him as he sank deeper and deeper, no longer concerned with work or the people involved in it.

“Little Scout is in way,” the familiar Russian’s growl startled him.

He looked up at the big man, stunned by his presence. The sheer size of him was as scary as a live bear. The fact that he could sneak around so easily was what shocked him to silence though.

He started to move out of the way, the Russian proceeding on his way, when he caught the man’s sleeve, “Uh…hey Heavy?”

“Heavy did not eat cookies,” the man responded sharply.

“N-no, I know,” Scout shook himself, trying to bring his thoughts to reality. That war had all but slipped his mind. Perhaps Heavy had remembered it better than he had. “I…I wanted to ask if you can write English,” he stammered a bit.

“Da,” the big man replied, “Yes, Heavy can read and write English and Russian. Maybe not as good as Russian, but still good.”

Scout bit his lip as he thought about what he was going to say. His gaze turned down to the letter in his hand. He was too wary of the consequences of asking this man to do something so embarrassing.

“Scout cannot read letter?” he asked.

“N-no, my eyesight’s good,” Scout argued, “I…I need somebody to _write_ a letter.”

He sighed as he thought about this. This was not turning out well. In the end, he was probably going to get himself laughed at. By the time this circulated, he was going to be a laughing stock on base. It was bad enough he had talked to the Soldier about having lied to his ma.

“Scout cannot write?” the man asked, a little concern in his voice.

At least it was better than him making fun of Scout on the spot. He held back any response, lest he further made a fool of himself. He imagined he was just digging himself deeper into a pit of nonsense with this whole thing. He might have to call it quits sooner than later.

“No, I can write,” he chewed on his lip, “That’s the problem. I can’t seem to convince my ma that it ain’t me writing, ‘cause it’s me writing. She’s too good and sees through it. She knows my penmanship and how I talk. Like, I ain’t great at it, but I’m good enough! Don’t think it takes a Spy to figure out how a lie works. Somehow she knows though.”

“You want write letter to mother?” the big man asked.

“Well, uh…” he nodded slowly in response, “Yea. Basically…I need somebody to pretend to be somebody…and write a letter to her.”

“Heavy is busy,” the man replied, “Scout find Soldier to do it. Or Spy. Spy is good at this.”

“N-no wait!” he did not know why he was intent on having Heavy do it.

It made better sense than the other options though. Pyro was possibly completely illiterate, Soldier would simply laugh at him, and Spy…who knows what Spy would do. The guy was a wild card between a gentleman and a major asshole. He was good at lies, no doubt, but he would probably ruin Scout’s reputation. Not to mention the close resemblance to the other Spy, who would often mock him about running off to visit Scout’s mother. Scout did not need a lesson in subtlety to get what he was insinuating with that.

“What is problem?” the Heavy growled with a bit of frustration.

“I can’t have…those guys do it,” he insisted, “I need somebody who…I dunno. I don’t even know what I’m saying. I’m sorry. I can’t…”

He looked at the letter again, feeling stunned at himself. He lied to his mother and he could not take that back. If he did nothing about this, who knows what she would do? He had dug himself so far into all of this that he was going to have to bury his pride, or bury himself in more guilt than one man could handle on his own.

He looked back up at Heavy, “Do this for me, and I’ll give you every batch of my mom’s cookies.”

The surprise was evident on Heavy’s face, with eyebrows raised. The question was silent, but prominent. Heavy did not use many words to express himself like Scout did. He had this quiet way of expressing things, making gestures and faces that conveyed enough to not need too many English words.

“Yes,” he said, to answer the unspoken question, “I mean it. All of the cookies. You write a letter to my ma pretending to be my girlfriend, and I’ll give you all the cookies I receive from her.”

After a hesitation, a pause for thought, Heavy nodded, “I will help you Scout.”

“Yes!” Scout celebrated by pumping a fist into the air.

“But!” the big man’s voice was thunderous against the ears. HE beng just a little to get closer to Scout. “I do this for sweet mother, not for lying son,” he pointed a big finger in Scout’s face.

“Okay! Alright! I got it!” Scout put his hands up defensively.

 

It was a few days of anxious waiting before Heavy came back with a letter. By then, Scout had received a batch of cookies, which he intended to give to Heavy unopened. The exchanged seemed like serious business, as they traded a letter for home baked treats.

Scout sent out the letter without reading it and waited with fervent anxiety. Every day, he waited with a feeling of frustration in his gut that his mother might not believe it. He started to kick himself mentally, realizing that he should have checked the letter himself before sending it out.

Finally, he received her letter, full of sweet and buttery words of affection. Along with it, was a short letter for the girl dubbed ‘ _my baby’s valentine_.’ Scout was so confused that it drove him up the wall. Finally, he went to confront the Heavy about the letter, and the man simply took it to read, adjusting little glasses on his nose.

He chuckled as he read, then handed the letter back, “Your mother is sweet woman.”

“What exactly did you tell her?” Scout demanded.

“Very basic thing,” he explained, “She want know how we met, da? So, I make story.”

“You made a story?” he felt a bit shocked that the man came up with such an idea.

“You were on day off, and I was crying on Valentines. You give me flower and compliment, then we spend time together as Valentines,”

“You have got to be kidding me,” Scout sighed, “Okay well-”

The Heavy cut him off, “In this letter, she ask for new letter.”

“Oh crap,” he sighed.

He pondered his initial reaction to all of this. He had panicked, because of course he did. It was his ma. But, he was not stupid enough to not see where this would lead. He would keep sending letters, then she would want to see his girlfriend, and then he would have to come up with this elaborate break up story or come up with some other stupid plan.

“I’m just gonna…call it quits and tell her the truth,” he said. He would take his mother’s wrath now before he made shit worse.

“No,” the Heavy laid a bit hand on his shoulder, “I will write new letter.”

“That’s okay big guy,” he patted the guy’s arm, hoping he would drop his hand and the subject, “If you want more cookies, I’ll share ‘em. Just ask. I’m gonna…take the brunt of my ma’s rage now before it gets any worse.”

“Scout,” Heavy shook his shoulder, “We do not do things for our own reward. We do it for our mothers.”

Scout raised his eyebrows at the bigger man, curiously. He was not entirely sure he understood what he was talking about. Sure, the guy seemed very serious when he said he was doing this for Scout’s ma and not for him, but he figured the guy was trying to save face over doing this weird favor for baked goods.

“If you do this, she will cry,” he said, motioning to the letter, “It will break heart to know the truth. She will be happier if she think you have girl.”

“You’re gonna help me with letters to ma?” he asked, with confusion.

“Yes,” the man gave him a soft smile, “I will write as ‘Valentine’ to your mother.”

“Th-thanks man,” he stammered a bit. He was not sure how well this would go. He only hoped that he did not burn up and destroy his relationship with his mother.

 

When another letter came from his mother, he took it and the batch of cookies she sent to the Heavy. He figured he still owed the guy the baked goods. Unlike usual, as Heavy would normally keep his body in the doorway to keep Scout out, Heavy opened the door and motioned for him to step inside. His space had been turned into a workshop, with a mess of weaponry everywhere.

The desk had been turned into a workbench, where oil stains littered the surface and small shreds of what looked like metal lay about. A few tools laid on the desk and filled the buckets and metal boxes that filled the space under the desk and chair.

Scout could not find a clean space to set the cookies, though it was the same for his own room. Heavy’s mess seemed to be a bit more productive though, with his gun placed on the table to be cleaned and oiled, along with the tools to do so. The mess around it was from the time spent working on this weapon among others. It was neat to see a personal space that was used to do something productive and work related.

After Heavy closed the door, he handed over the cookies, “Figured you would want ‘em.”

Heavy took the cookies with one hand, then the letter with the other. He set the cookies on the work table to read the letter from Scout’s ma. He paid so little mind to the cookies, he might as well have been doing all of this for a chance to be a penpal with Scout’s ma. That was a creepy thought, but he tried to file it away as nonsense.

“I uh…I’ll get outta your hair then,” Scout said, scratching the back of his head.

“Stay,” Heavy replied, turning to grab the cookies. He opened the container and offered it to him. “We share.”

Scout smiled and accepted a cookie. Procuring one of the two chairs in the room, he took a seat and they munched on cookies together.

 

They would spend every other day or so like this. They would talk over cookies, often spared so that Scout would return to the Heavy’s workshop. And then another letter and another batch of cookies would come in and it would start all over. For the most part they talked about random things they had in common. Their mothers were the obvious first topic of discussion.

Then it turned out that Heavy _liked **baseball**_ , and that was pretty cool. That gave Scout ample opportunity to brag about his experience with baseball, even the ones where he met famous ball players. The guy did not play the game, but he enjoyed watching and even had a favorite team.

“Seriously? The Mets?” Scout scoffed, “The New York Mets? The Red Sox could totally beat them blindfolded!”

Heavy chuckled at the response, “Is not perfect, but is good team.”

Scout chortled at that. He never thought he would meet somebody he could have a war with, then make friends with, who also liked the Mets. It was a weird situation overall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story now has a supplement. It's a collection of letters, the correspondence between Heavy and Scout's Mom.  
> Letters from Home: http://archiveofourown.org/works/11240298/chapters/25121508


	2. First Correspondence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The letter Heavy first read and his first letter to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am reworking this story, so this is not the same Chapter 2 as the previous Chapter 2

June 30, 1938

Dear Scout,

It has been too long since I have heard from you. I am tired of waiting. I wait and I wait for a letter but you’re always late, baby. I know you’re busy, but must you make your mother wait? I love you so much, you know that.

I got a new job. The old bakery closed because of crotchety people who cannot butt their noses out of what is not their business. I am working at the Snack Shack down by the bend now. The pay is not that great, but it is something.

Remember when I used to work at the old grocery store? Dave’s Delivery Danishes? That place used to _be_ a bakery. You and your brothers would go tease the manager for his danishes, even though there weren’t anymore.

Those were the good old days. I miss those days. It was nice to be a part of your life in some way.

You always seemed to shine too. You shined brightest around girls. I remember how you tried to show off for Delilah Brooks. Do you remember her? She works with that florist down the road now. She looks really pretty now. Wish you were here. I could set you up with her and I know you would be grinning from ear to ear, with a bucket of chicken in one arm and your other hand waving around like crazy. You would have that crooked smile on your face, the one you get when you are trying to impress somebody.

I could always see through that little façade. It did not matter what you were really after, they always made you smile. I wish I could see that smile again. I want to see my boy happy again. You seemed so depressed when you left. I know it has been especially hard these past few years, but I’m sure we’ll all make it through. It is what Peter would have wanted.

Remember how Peter used to play house with you? Sometimes I got so mad. I do not even remember why I was so mad. I do not understand it, but I guess I was a mother trying to look out for her boys. I look back and wish I could take it all back. You were such good boys, and what kind of mother am I to deserve you?

I do understand, for the millionth time, that you are working with a bunch of men. I get that. It is just that it would be nice to know that there was a woman in your life, even just to go home to, who could fix up that frown and make you smile again.

Please send more letters.

I want lots of letters from this _lady friend_ you claimed to have.

Do not lie and tell me it’s not you when I know it is.

Sincerely,  
Mom

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

July 21, 1938

Dear Scout’s mother,

As an honest person, I will only write you the truth. I like your son. We have known each other for a while. However, I have been getting to know your son only lately.

I hope this letter finds you well. Scout talks all about you. He likes to talk a lot. He tells me about his brothers and his mother all of the time. I can see that you mean a lot to him. He tells me about Boston and the Red Socks. He even shared those cookies you made for him. They are delicious.

Scout shared with me that you are worried about him. Please don’t worry about him. He is doing fine. He sees the doctor regularly. He has many friends. I think he even has quite a few good hobbies. I think you would like where he is living.

He said you would want to know how we met. Well, I was sad on Valentines. He gave me a flower and told me I was nice. We spent time together after that.

That is all from me for now.

Sincerely,  
A

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A is abbreviation for Heavy's name.


	3. Second Correspondence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another set of letters between Heavy and Scout's ma.

August 1, 1938

Dear A,

It’s wonderful to hear that my little boy is doing so well. I have been hard pressed to make him impress girls. He has, however, fooled me before. He has written letters himself, and even had friends do it for him. I hope that this is not that case.

I just worry about him, you know? I’m a working single mom. His dad was never around to take care of him, or show him how to be a man. I worry that I might not have been enough on my own.

I love him and care about him very much. Sometimes I pray that I could just reach out and tell him through a phone. I try to tell him, but sometimes it falls on deaf ears. I’m sure you know how that is.

He sure does like to talk. I am glad he has talked about his family. I would be worried if he did not share about his boisterous brothers and how much he loves them. They all worry about him too. Even the boys down in the clink have asked me how Scout is doing.

I am glad that you like the cookies! Just ask away and I’ll send plenty of extras for the two of you. Let me know if you receive them, because I know my little boy likes to hog sweets. I would not put it past him to hide the treats from you.

I’m so glad you like him too. It can be hard to see past the loud mouthing and boisterous attitude. He is so confident in what he does. Sometimes people can’t see how great he is because he talks too highly of himself. That may be my fault a little. I always wanted him to feel good about himself. I always encouraged him when it came to sports and things, so he could feel good about himself. I never really stopped him from bragging.

I guess you learn from adulthood. You certainly learn a lot from parenthood. I don’t feel like I learned enough though. I had so many before Scout, and I still didn’t do my best with him.

I’m sorry, I’ve spent this whole letter rambling about Scout. I still don’t know anything about you! Tell me about yourself. Tell me where you are from! I want to know the lady who is interested in my boy!

Sincerely,  
Scout’s mom

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

August 24, 1938

Dear Scout’s mother,

Sorry for my English. It is bad. I am originally from Russia, so English is not easy language for me. Writing is much easier than talking, because I can think. I can think about all of the things I want to say before I have to put them down and send them to you.

It can be hard with Scout. This is true. The boy likes to talk endlessly. He likes to chatter a lot. Sometimes, I have a hard time following what he says.

He is good though. I like him. He has a good heart. He talks so fondly of his mother. I relate to that. I am also very fond of my mother.

My mother lives back in Russia, with my four sisters. They are ruffians for girls, but I love them all. I work in America to send money for them.

I actually work with Scout. It is how we met. This is how we know each other. How I started sending you letters was from cookies. Your cookies were delicious, but I don’t remember who really stole them. I think somebody took them, and Scout thought I did it. It’s in the past though, we are now very close.

I am glad to have met your son. You did a great job with him. He is wonderful boy. Thank you.

Sincerely,  
A


	4. Third Correspondence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scout's ma is buying the letters by this point.

September 12, 1938

Dear A,

Oh my! What a catch! You sound like such a sweet thing. A hard worker sending money home to the family. So commendable!

I suppose you and my boy share a lot in common. You both love my cookies. You both work the same job. You are both close to your mothers, even though you live far away from them. You both have a lot of siblings.

Are you close to your sisters? You did not say. I only saw that you mentioned having four sisters.

I am so happy for my baby. I am so happy to hear that he is close with somebody so wonderful as you.

And a Russian! So exotic! You must be beautiful! You must be the best thing that my boy’s ever laid eyes on. You are to me, for sending me these letters.

I’d love to see you sometime. I know it gets hard with work and all. Perhaps someday you could visit? If it is not too difficult. I know you are working hard for your mother and sisters.

I hope everything is well and that he is treating you alright. I worry sometimes about him. It’s good to know that there is somebody closer to help me worry over that silly boy.

Sincerely,  
Scout’s mom

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

September 29, 1938

Dear Scout’s mother,

I told you I would be honest. This is honest truth.

I am no catch. I am not that good looking. Most men would never ever look at me that way.

It’s okay though. What’s important to me is that I am close with Scout.

It is nice to have correspondence with you as well. He shows me your letters and we sort of read them together. I take much longer to read them because of my skill.

Our work is not that similar. We both work this job together, but I work with much bigger tools. I also work close with a doctor.

I’m not sure that we’ll meet anytime soon in the future, but here’s hoping.

Sincerely,  
A

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, narrative shall resume.


	5. Heavy and Scout or...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heavy is getting a little more than he bargained for. And Sniper has feelings too?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sniper comes into the story now

Abram was never good with people until they sat down with him. Problem usually was that they would not sit down with him. They were usually too afraid of him. They usually saw his expressions as too dramatic and took even the slightest frown or grimace to mean that they were about to die.

Maybe that was the initial difference with Scout. He was always cocksure and full of himself that he did not hesitate when he was invited into his private quarters for the first time. Every time after that, Scout basically let himself in.

It felt good to have somebody around, somebody who just let themselves into your life whenever they felt like it. Not the kind that stomped on you, no, but he kind who came around to hang out with you often.

After a few months, Heavy no longer kept cookies around, and Scout would come anyways. It felt good, because in this country, where his language was not that of the common folk, and so many people took him for a dangerous giant, it was hard to find friends. It was good to feel like he had befriended Scout.

It was also fun to pretend. Talking to Scout helped him to write the letters, as he would often include his thoughts on the boy, just to make it seem more real. The more he got to know the young man beneath the cap, the more he started to notice that he wanted to write comments about the sparkle in Scout’s eye, how at ease he was in the presence of somebody much bigger than him, and how he bit his lip when he had something to say.

Scout’s mother replied with so much as well. Things about his past, what she missed about him, and how he smiled. Yes, Abram had started to like the familiarity of that smile too. It was like a little rainbow to greet him at his door when there were cookies and a letter.

When Scout left his room, he sat there pinching the bridge of his nose. Why was he doing this to himself? Why was he aiming for something he could not have?

After mentally kicking himself for a good five minutes, he reached for a beer, hidden in a cabinet by his bed. He needed to drink away the sadness that was churning up from the understanding that what was and what he wanted were very different things.

It did not start like this either. His initial reaction to the Scout’s question had been surprise, but when he learned that it had to do with appeasing his mother, Abram had to help. It was not for Scout, it was for a woman whose son lied to her and might well break her heart if somebody did not step in.

What a momma’s boy, Scout would say if he understood the true reason behind Heavy’s help. He loved his own mother so much, and knowing how much she went through to keep him and his sisters fed, he could only imagine what a mother with eight kids (as according to Scout he had seven brothers) had to go through, with her youngest running off to become a mercenary in a secret war.

The cookies were a good compensation, he thought. For writing a small letter to appease a woman, they made it worth the trouble. And a woman who could bake such delicious cookies? She must be a very wonderful mother, taking her time to make sure her son had a sweet treat that reminded him of home. Of course, knowing his own mother, it was also in part a hope that the boy would return home soon. And if he _really_ knew his own mother, she would be sitting down to chatter and trade recipes with this woman, if they ever met.

The second letter was also for that woman. Having seen the look on Scout’s face, he was sure that woman would be crying. After having read that letter he brought, he could not disappoint her. She had been so thrilled at hearing that there was somebody who cared about Scout so much. She wanted happiness for her son; that was all.

And here he was, enjoying every moment with Scout. He had not had this much enjoyment since his boyfriend back in Russia. And the more he compared the two, the more he realized where his heart was leading him with this.

If he kept letting Scout into his personal space, then something was bound to happen. Part of him really just wanted to ride this insane vehicle down the destructive pathway it was taking him, regardless of which way Scout chose to go with it. Every logical bone in his body told him to clean up this mess before it fucked him over.

He decided to leave the mental argument aside, drowning his thoughts in beer. It was cheap nasty beer, but he liked it regardless. It would not get him wasted as fast as Vodka, but it did the job well enough.

 

Heavy was cleaning Sascha when Scout showed up again. The young man let himself right in and took the other seat in the room. He had a smile on his face that Heavy could have stared at for hours. If only he could draw him closer and closer, until he was too close for comfort.

“Scout comes often,” he noted, hoping to get going on the topic of being visited too often. He would not stop the letters, but if he was going to get away from these feelings, then he had to make the Scout stop seeing him so much.

“Uh…eheh…it makes it easier to write those letters, right?” Scout asked, hesitantly, “I mean, you get to know me, then you can write to my ma about how cool you think I am!” Scout gave his cockiest grin as he flexed his arm.

He was unable to resist a smile. In spite of himself, he gave Scout’s arm a once over. It was not impressive at all, but that was because of Scout’s lean build. With a scrawny exterior, the younger man had a chicken-like look to him, unlike any of the other mercenaries. He knew from personal experience that there was muscle there though, it was just sinewy and lean.

He quickly turned away to hide the blushing expression on his face. He had imagined those arms wrapped around him in an embrace. An innocent moment, with the other man hugging him.

“So uhh…yea…I figured talking’s a good thing. Ain’t it?” Scout asked.

“Da, is good,” he said, feeling ashamed of himself.

“Okay, that’s good,” Scout lounged back on the chair, “Talkin’ all good things with my ma, right?”

Abram chuckled at that, “Scout does not know how women talk, does he?”

“What?” Scout suddenly sat up straight, alert and a little spooked, “What are you talking about, Heavy?”

Abram shook his head, “When your mother ask how you are doing, she does not expect all compliments back. Is how she learn you are writing her.”

“What? Really?” Scout sighed, a little disappointed. He was not sure what exactly he was disappointed about though.

“Don’t worry,” he chuckled heartily, “I tell her nice things.”

Scout nodded in response, satisfied by the answer. Abram was not satisfied with his answer. His English could be better. If it was better, he could portray more complicated things to this young man. He was left to listen to the young man’s ramblings again. Usually he liked it, but he had been reminded of his lack of skill with the language, and that made him feel frustrated.

 

Each day, Scout came to his room to talk. Each day, he got to know the young man more and more. Each day that Scout came to his room, he became more and more fond of him, and more attached to the idea of keeping him around.

Why did it feel so wrong yet so good? Scout was that good kind of company that he figured to be great boyfriend material. But he could not simply approach the American, with his broken English and low personal interaction skills, to try and ask him to be more than friends. How did one even say that in English? He certainly did not know the answer.

At night he could not sleep, lying awake thinking about it all. Finally, he decided to get out his dictionary and start working out things to say. Not that he would say them, no! Say something like that to an American? And a young man like him was already challenged about his masculinity by the others. So, he could not make him feel uncomfortable like that. He would keep it to himself, to be something therapeutic. So that, if he ever did have the chance to say it, he would know what he wanted to say.

He would sit for hours at his workbench, with a dictionary, a pencil and paper. He would scribble and write, trying hard to mimic the English alphabet. He never properly learned it, just enough to be able to read things in a dictionary.

 

One such night of scribbling was interrupted. He was surprised, as nobody ever disturbed the quiet giant. There was not an emergency either, as none of the alarms had gone off. It must have been Spy sneaking around, seeking information on something.

When he opened the door he was surprised to see not Spy but Sniper. He blinked at him, a bit bewildered to see the long legged gunman around his room. He usually hid out in his camper, when there was not a game of poker to be won. He seemed rather odd, standing here in front of Abram’s room, shifting on his feet, looking down like he was too shy to say something that was on his mind.

“Something I can do for Sniper?” Abram asked, hesitantly.

The man reached for the collar of his own shirt, tugging on it, as if to let some air in under the felt. Abram waited patiently for the man to look up. He did not have to look far, as the sharp shooter was maybe two inches shorter than himself.

There was silence between them for a long time. It lasted so long that Abram almost made the first move. The other man finally flinched, as if awoken from a trance.

“I’m not good with words,” Sniper stated blatantly.

“Da, me either,” Abram chuckled, trying to break the tension. He was surprised at how rigid this meeting felt. They were face to face and alone, this should have been easier.

“I-I mean…um…” Sniper stammered. A droplet of sweat was running from his brow.

“Sniper, everything is okay?” he asked, hesitantly. Maybe he was in some sort of trouble. Maybe he was trying to force himself to ask for help from a teammate.

Abram was patient, so he would not push him. He stood there silently, waiting for him to respond. As the seconds passed by, turning into minutes, a cold sweat seemed to form at the back of his own neck. It was like an iciness had formed in the tension brought to his door.

The icy silence was briefly interrupted when Sniper finally spoke, “You know when you’re…uh…alone? When everything’s too quiet?”

Abram nodded slowly. Usually he worked alone in his peacefully quiet space, but that sometimes became frustrating. That was part of why he liked having Scout around. Listening to him chatter was nice. He rarely had to think about what the boy was talking about, he could just listen.

“And uh…” Sniper scratched at his nose, “You know uh…when you can’t take it anymore? You just can’t?”

Abram paused, translating those words in his mind. He had to roll the English words around in his head before he fully understood the meaning. But, he felt like something was missing.

“Da, sometimes is too quiet,” he nodded in agreement.

The Sniper licked his lips nervously. It seemed like something was wrong. But, if there was something wrong with his health he would have gone to the Medic. There was nothing Abram could think of that would warrant a visit to the Heavy Weapons Guy.

“I have something I want to say,” the Sniper suddenly cut off, not saying more.

Maybe he was letting Abram think. He nodded slowly, intending to let the Sniper know he understood and appreciated the break in speech. It was often too much to just listen to nonstop English. Nobody learned meanings of anything that way. And what with all the crazy grammar, it was hard to tell what was an important word and what was just another particle that made the language overly complex.

“I am afraid- I mean, I don’t want to say it,” Sniper lifted his hands, as if in helplessness.

Abram looked at his hands, trying to piece together what he meant. He had never seen such a gesture paired with English before. He wondered if it had a specific meaning to the Australian. That was always a problematic barrier when it came to language, misunderstanding gestures.

“But, I want to fill the silence,” Sniper sighed, letting his hands drop. His head tilted forward, the brim of his hat covering his eyes.

“If quiet too much,” Abram spoke slowly, hoping that his meaning came out clearly, “then Sniper must speak.”

“It’s not that easy,” the Sniper said, hat still tilted down. His hands clenched and then released, as if trying to relieve a tension.

Abram sighed and folded his arms over his chest. The gesture was big enough that it got the man to tilt his head up a bit. He was looking at him, but not raising his head high enough to look him face to face. He was still unsure about something, but Abram was not sure how to press.

“Sniper should fill silence,” he said, “If effect job, then maybe need to be quiet. But, is good to be noisy at some time.”

The Sniper raised his head. His eyes were glistening. It took Abram by surprise, though he started to wonder if there was something deeper going on.

He had not considered something wrong with him emotionally. Of all the people to turn to, there were not many a mercenary could look towards. Sniper was a family man, known for calling his parents, like a little momma’s boy. Abram could relate to that. He could also relate to not wanting Scout to yammer about his family business to others, not wanting Spy to know secrets, not wanting to deal with the drunken Demoman, or hear the American Soldier rant about how he thinks it is unmanly to have feelings at all.

Perhaps of all the people to go to, Heavy would go to the Engineer. He was not close to the Engineer though, so he was hesitant. The American Texas man seemed rather patient and listened intently when somebody spoke, but he had a mean streak when somebody picked on him. Being the smallest meant he got picked on a lot for his size, and Abram theorized that the Engineer resented him for his incredible size.

He never really talked about his feelings with anybody here. The only people he talked to were his family in letters. It felt safe, because Spy was the only one who knew Russian, and he did not seek out the Heavy’s family notes.

When he was feeling down though, he usually went to the Medic. As the third talkative person on the base, the Medic was not much of a listener. Second to Scout in the category of the worst listeners, in fact. He often drolled on in words too big for even most native speakers of English to understand, yet he kept talking excitedly.

It was always that excited behavior. There was something about him that was so thrilling. It was that electric personality. He was not the kind of man he would want as a partner, but definitely a good man to listen to. If he could speak English better, he would want to speak it like the doctor.

But, here he was with the Sniper. It was not Abram who was suffering, it was Sniper. He had never thought himself a good person for comforting men, in fact that was his ex’s biggest complaint of him. But, perhaps he could put his listening skills to good use and try.

“Sniper come inside,” he stepped aside to admit the Australian to his quarters, “Will talk in private.”

After the sharp shooter stepped inside, he glanced up and down the halls. He was not that wary, since they were not doing anything wrong, but there was always paranoia of a Spy poking into their business. Sniper being in a vulnerable state of mind might mean that this would be a conversation he needed nobody else to hear. It may have been his lack of English skills to convey complex messages that brought Sniper to Abram’s door.

When he turned around, he was surprised to find that the Sniper was standing very close. Sniper’s eyes shot up to his face and he raised his hands and backed away. “Sorry, mate,” he muttered.

“Is fine,” he motioned to one of the two chairs in the room, the one where Scout usually sat.

Sniper gave him a small but appreciative smile, before taking the seat. Abram took his usual seat, turning the chair to face his guest rather than the workbench. He settled himself with a sigh, then waited for Sniper to move on with his words.

The silence was utterly killing him though. Sniper could not seem to get a word out of his mouth. He just clutched to the knees of his pants with white knuckles. Something was very wrong, Abram was sure of that.

“Sniper, what is problem?” he asked, scooting his chair a bit closer.

“No problem,” the Australian assured him, somehow able to get these words out too fast.

“Is something wrong at home?” he asked, “Parents are okay?”

“P-parents are fine,” he stammered a bit, hesitant at every sound he made.

“Then what is trouble?” he pressed.

“No trouble,” Sniper tried to assure him.

“Then why come to Heavy’s door?” he tried to push more.

“Because I-” Sniper’s head shot up and their eyes met.

Abram was sure the man’s eyes widened a little. There was something like awe in them. Maybe it was a form of admiration that had been hidden up until this point. The two rarely ever had a moment to speak to each other, and those were typically interrupted by noisy men.

Maybe this was just how Sniper behaved. Maybe he was a strange person to know. Maybe he was hesitant around people. Maybe being social was all an act, something he forced to make himself appear normal.

“There is reason,” Abram went on, “So what is reason that Sniper come to my door?”

“I…” his eyes dropped a little, but not far. He could not tell whether the man was looking at his chin or his nose.

“If is secret, then Heavy will not tell,” he assured him in a softer voice, “Can be hard to talk in this place. Men are not so friendly.”

“I wanted…I wanted to tell you something,” tears sprung to his eyes as he met Abram’s gaze.

“Da?” he pressed, hoping the man might stop stalling this time.

Sniper’s eyes jumped between his two pupils, “I…I like you. No! That’s not what I meant!”

Abram felt his face become warm as he listened, hoping that the Sniper might explain himself. He backtracked so fast that he was not sure if it was the wrong words or simply the wrong meaning. Maybe it was both, but he could not be sure about it.

“I mean…I mean I feel like I love you…like…jeez this is stupid,” suddenly the Sniper was talking naturally, as if something had released its hold on him, “I feel like a dumb kid in school again. But, I like you and I wanna get to know you, mate. I’m sorry if it insults you. I ain’t meaning to push anything. I’m not that kinda guy. I just…had to get it off my chest. You know? Not easy to do when more than half the men you work with would kill you for it.”

Abram barely understood any of that, but he understood enough. His lips formed a small “O” of their own accord, as he listened to the man. It made sense for him to hesitate at something like this. What was more, he probably did not realize that the Heavy Weapons Guy was in a similar situation.

The realization of his own predicament being similar to the Sniper’s made him laugh. He laughed so hard he almost cried. It was hard to stop laughing too. He just kept bellowing with a jolly feeling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am working on more letters between Abram and Scout's ma.


	6. Fourth Correspondence

October 1, 1938

Dear A,

Don’t be so modest dear. You seem like the kind of girl Scout must be drooling over. If you really think so low of yourself, then Scout must think you are a diamond. I know my boy well, and I know when he has latched on hard.

He sends me letters along with yours. He talks about you a bit. He seems a bit secretive though. It is like he does not know you as well as I already know you.

Sorry to make this one short. I have been short for time lately. I just want to get a couple of letters out your way.

I hope all is well, and I send my love to you and my boy.

Well wishes,  
Scout’s ma

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

October 16, 1938

Dear Scout’s mother,

It is very sweet of you to say these things. I appreciate your words. It is nice to hear from you every month. Sometimes I tire of Scout talking. Do not tell him I said that.

I do not mind short message. It is much easier to read. I feel much more capable of understanding letters if they are simple and short. Native English speakers often do not get to the point. Like Scout, he does not get to the point.

There are other things to like about him though. When he talks too much, I look at the hat he wears. It does not matter which color it is. It is usually red though. He usually wears it a little crooked. I have learned of the crooked smile you once mentioned. I have grown to love it.

I wish you well. Scout and I must prepare for big holiday. It is big busy time of year. Business will be scary. Halloween is frightening.

Sincerely,  
A


	7. Sniper's Attention

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sniper's set his sights on Abram.

Ben stared at the Heavy for the longest time. He felt stunned and afraid for his life. His first reaction was to tell the man that this was not a joke. Dammit, he should just let him laugh it off though, let him think it was all a joke and let that be.

But he had to react. His skills as a Sniper had not served him well in social situations before, and by all the powers that be, they apparently would not help him now. He had to be an idiot and claim it was not a joke. What an idiot, he thought. He was the fool that led himself down this path of looking like a gay pervert creeping on him and trying to _convert_ him or something.

“Da, is good,” the Heavy responded.

“No, I mean-” he cut himself off before he could do it again. He was already embarrassed as it was, he did not need more anguish.

“Heavy understands what means,” the Heavy replied, still smiling, “Is merely…coincidence. Heavy is laughing because Heavy is the fool.”

He shook his head hastily, “I don’t think you’re a fool! You’re not!”

He could not believe that this was going so well. At least, the kind of well that meant the bigger man did not intend to kill him. He could only hope that it would keep going nicely and that the big guy would let him down gently.

“No, Heavy is fool,” the big man said with a sigh, “But, to be fair, Heavy did not know…these feelings.”

Ben shifted uneasily in his chair. It was out there, and the Heavy understood. But, what would he do with the information. Just fretting on the topic made him sweat, droplets moving slowly from his hairline and down his sideburns.

“Would have never known,” the Heavy went on, “I am glad you came to me. Honesty is appreciated.”

Ben bit his lip. That was the kind of thing you said when you were about to try and let somebody down gently. At least, that was what his experience was from a third person perspective. He had watched enough people go through this kind of song and dance to know where this was going. It would be best for him and their professional relationship if he just left gracefully.

He rose from his seat. He put on the best smile he could fake, wanting to give the impression that everything would be alright. He did not want to tarnish any positive impressions the Heavy might have of him. As it was, he counted himself lucky that the man was not trying to kill him.

“I understand, and I’ll leave you alone,” Sniper said, raising his hands, “I am glad I can be honest with you, though. Thank you…for letting me get that off of my chest.”

He gave him another smile before he headed towards the door. The big man, whose steps were too big not to hear, followed him. He turned as he stepped out, giving him yet another smile.

Be courteous. Be polite. Always make others feel like they have been treated with utmost respect.

That was the little bit of social etiquette that being a professional killer had taught him. It was the only tidbit he had ever kept with him throughout his miserable life. It was the only bit of social information that he had ever needed or had ever served him well. With that in mind, he was able to smile a little easier.

“See ya, mate,” he gave him a two fingered salute, the kind of which the Scout would give, before he left. He kicked himself mentally for doing that, as that must have looked so stupid. It looked rather stupid when Scout did it anyways.

He headed back to his room in the base, wanting to get someplace quiet and secluded quickly. His camper van was a ways out there, so he figured he would just stay in his room for the night. It would not be much of a bother to him anyways. It was better than explaining himself to anybody who started reading his expression. That included the Spy.

He loathed the very idea of having to explain himself to the guy who could subjectively read minds. It was like a super power or something. Reading body language gave the Spy an upper hand whenever talking to people. Nobody could ever surprise him with anything.

Sniper laid out on his bed, letting his mind wander back to the Heavy. Things had gone a lot better, considering he thought he would leave with a limp, or be sent to respawn. Instead, he was left to worry about how their professional relationship would go.

He pushed that down too. He did not need to think about any of that right now. The way he figured, he could enjoy knowing that he could probably still be friends with the Heavy and the man would not hurt him for his feelings. In the quiet privacy of his own space, he could quietly dream that they were more than friends.

 

The next morning felt awkward for him though. Stepping into respawn, the teammates all gathered for the morning count down. At one point, he thought the Heavy was trying to talk to him, but he was legitimately busy with his rifle, which he had forgotten to clean. Seemed he should have gone back to his camper and taken care of things the night before after all.

He avoided others’ gazes, more than usual. He normally did not look at others, but now he felt like he had to. He had to avoid looking up and seeing the Heavy. He had to avoid giving the Spy any hints that something was going on with him.

That thought made his stomach churn. A Spy being involved in his love life? That would be a nightmare. It did not matter what side the Spy was on, the Spy would be a nightmare to work with in this situation.

As they headed out onto the battlefield, Ben got a full view of the field as always. He took down a couple of enemies, before he found a nice perch on a rock, where he could cover his teammates. When the enemy was cleared out, he could spare himself a moment to look at the Heavy. One could dream, couldn’t he?

Dream he did as he looked at the man. He was powerful, with a hulking form that spoke of muscle that could crush a man’s skeletal structure. He was not made of what lazy men were filled with. No, this man was made of strong muscle and bone, with some cushion in between.

He pushed forward with the others, not wanting to get left behind or let the enemy find an upper hand. But, with every push, there was always at least one death. A pattern he was starting to notice was that the death was the Heavy. Every single time they pushed forward, the Heavy would fall. Given that he was the tank that took the brunt of heavy fire on most days, Ben found this suspicious.

To satisfy his curiosity, he found a perch where he could watch the Heavy more closely. Maybe he could actually help pick off whoever was harming him. There was something about how he was holding his favorite weapon today. Maybe he was feeling under the weather today, but Ben had a hunch that the man was very distracted today. He just did not have his attention on his surroundings.

At last, he could not take it anymore. As the Heavy went through respawn, he took off. He shouldered the strap of his gun and rushed to find the Heavy where he would be returned with his body in whole. He did not want to miss an opportunity to talk to him alone. Maybe he could apologize for before, set him straight in understanding that he wanted to be friends. It could not be anything else, he was sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooh! A contender!


	8. Fifth Correspondence

October 28, 1938

Dear A,

I am surprised! I am starting to receive your messages sooner and sooner! It is nice to hear from you! Maybe we should just do short letters. This way we can do them more often!

I love hearing from you. I can tell you love my boy.

I get the sense that something is going on though. Is everything alright? Are you two getting along?

Well wishes,  
Scout’s ma

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

November 8, 1938

Dear Scout’s mother,

It is good to hear from you again. Scout and I have been doing very well.

We are going steady right now. Everything is fine.

I am sorry if I worried you. Maybe I was a little upset when I wrote it. Scout can make me angry sometimes.

I wish you well. I hope your holidays are nice.

Sincerely,  
A


	9. Heavy's Looking at Sniper

Abram respawned with a groan. Today of all days had to be his off day. He just could not catch a break. What with the conflicts going on in his mind, he could not settle for one thing or another long enough to concentrate on work. While his weapon did not require a whole lot of mental effort to use, he did need to focus on where and at whom he was aiming it.

He was not ready to leave respawn. He felt mentally incapable of carrying on with his task for the day. Once he stepped out of respawn though, any kind of mercenary could be out there. It seemed easy enough to let them kill him over and over, but that in itself was a hassle. Just dying, over and over, seemed to make the weight heavier in his mind.

He set down Sascha, wishing he could trade her out for something smaller for the day. He just needed to feel a bit lighter, so he did not feel like he was dragging his toes. He tried to convince himself that losing a bit of weight around his middle would help with the problem, but he knew what the real problem was.

“Heavy?” the Sniper suddenly stumbled into the respawn.

Abram was startled, not having expected any of his teammates, much less the Sniper. He was looking for him too. Maybe they were in desperate need of a forceful push. That would mean that others were going through respawn and would be here soon. As the slowest teammate, he needed to get going, so he stood up and picked up Sascha.

“Heavy…I’m…I’m sorry,” the Sniper approached him cautiously, “I didn’t mean any harm by what I said yesterday, and I hope I haven’t…I hope I haven’t made you uncomfortable. I want to be friends, if that is possible.”

He blinked at the Sniper, feeling a bit bewildered. He was not sure what to say or what had brought this on. This was definitely not the same as a request to push forward with the cart.

“I uh…I noticed you haven’t…been yourself today,” Sniper admitted, “And I hope I didn’t cause you…that…I didn’t…I don’t want to…I mean…you don’t have to worry about it. It was just um…”

Abram set a hand on the Sniper’s shoulder. There was a warm sensation in his chest. It felt similar to joy, but it was something a bit different. He smiled, giving the Sniper’s shoulder a squeeze.

“Maybe now’s not the time to talk about this,” Sniper admitted.

Abram felt so happy. The Sniper came to check on him. He had noticed him feeling down. He had taken notice of him and decided to take action for him.

The admission of a crush had been flattering. This was so much more. This was what a real friendship felt like.

 

Abram was seated in the recreation room reading a book when the Sniper came in. The only others around were the Demoman and the Medic, who were silently studying a game of chess. While not the most intelligent man, the Demoman was not one to turn down challenges.

Sniper found himself a place along the wall to lean on, placing himself where he could advantageously watch the chess match. He put the man out of his mind for a while, until something seemed to tug on his nerves. He was being watched closely. Curious, he raised his eyes slowly up the page and peered over his book.

Sharp intense eyes were gazing at him. Beneath the shadow of the slouch back hat’s brow, it looked intense. The moment he realized he had been caught, the Sniper did a double take and turned his eyes away.

He found this rather interesting. It was almost endearing. Then again, most might well see it as creepy for a man to be staring at somebody. Perhaps Abram had just been alone for too long to care, but he liked the attention.

He wondered then what he could do to start a conversation. Obviously they could not be open here. Most people here would not be welcome to such a courtship as that between two men. They were consenting adults though, so something had to be done to let a spark start.

He returned his eyes to the pages, but was looking at the white of the page. He wondered what another man might do in his place. Most of them would probably be uncomfortable and not know what to do with the attention, much like himself. He wondered how a woman might respond to the situation. A disinterested woman would be creeped out and would look for some escape or scapegoat. An interested woman would lure him in.

If he approached, it might look weird. Then again, maybe he could start a friendly conversation. He could talk about the weather. Maybe talk about the chess game. Never mind, that was a bad idea. Abram was not good at chess and would just fumble over the words and trying to talk about how one plays chess.

Suddenly, red lights started flashing, “Attention! There’s a BLU Spy in the base!”

Abram snapped his book shut and tromped off to get his gun. He could deal with the delicate social matter with the Sniper later. For now he had a job to do.

“Let’s go! Let’s go!” Scout darted from an adjacent hallway, barreling towards the intelligence room.

He was glad he did not leave his dear minigun far from himself. He grabbed it and hurried off to the intelligence room, ready to defend it.


	10. Sniper's Hero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit more of the Sniper's perspective of things.

Ben found himself squaring off with the unbearable spook. The blue smoke had tipped him off and he swung around wildly. He got a lash at the man, slicing a shallow mark in his upper arm with his kukri. The Spy only became angry though, brandishing his dagger as he skillfully moved around to try and get at his backside.

“Not today!” he declared, backing himself up against a wall.

That had been a bad idea, because the Spy came right in with his forearm to knock the wind out of his air pipe. How this day could get any worse than the humiliation he was about to face was beyond him.

“Hmm,” the Spy gave a mischievous grin, “Think I’ll keep this.” He took the hat off with the hand holding the dagger. He placed the slouch back on his own head, giving the Sniper a caddy grin as he relished the trophy.

“Fight me like a man!” Sniper raised his hand with the kukri, but the Spy dug into his shoulder with his elbow. Sniper did not even know he could do that.

“Lay your weapon down and I won’t hurt you so badly,” the Spy insisted.

“Get-” he did a double take, not sure how he had not heard the Heavy come into the area.

The big hulking Russian man came right up behind them, adjusting a pair of bright red boxing gloves. His minigun was nowhere in sight. The Spy frowned at the Sniper’s double take turning to see the big hulking man. He gasped with surprise, stunned and frightened by the Heavy’s appearance, a bigger and much stronger opponent.

With the Spy distracted, Ben brought his kukri up again, stabbing it into his neck, where it met the shoulder. The Spy screamed in pain and fell to his knees. He gave him a kick with his boot and watched him bleed out on the floor.

“Stupid piker,” he muttered.

The Heavy gave a deep chuckle, “Very good!”

“Thanks mate,” Ben felt himself flushing.

“Aha!” the RED Spy’s voice suddenly supplanted the Heavy’s voice. He looked on in stunned silence as red smoke caused the image of the Heavy to turn into the Spy. “So it’s true!”

Ben’s mind spun. He felt like everything had just been whisked right out from underneath of him, like a fancy move with a table cloth. What was worse was that it was the Spy.

“What?” he demanded, a bit angrily.

“You’ve got a growing obsession for the Heavy,” the RED Spy smirked at him deviously.

“I do not,” Sniper growled.

“Yet you-” Spy cut off and began screaming, dropping with a dagger in his back.

“You got blood on my suit,” the BLU Spy appeared where the RED was, scoffing in disgust.

Sniper grit his teeth in a sudden rage, reaching towards him. Just as he was about to strike, he realized that his blade was on the floor. His expression dropped, his whole face sagging with disbelief at his own blunder. The duplicate of the Spy had already vanished, leaving the dagger down on the floor.

“As we were…” the BLU gave him a playful grin.

The crackling of knuckles suddenly caught both of them by surprise. Ben looked up and the Spy turned to see the visage of the Heavy, hefting his minigun. The BLU had raised his knife defensively, though a little old blade was not going to do him any good against the Heavy Weapons Guy’s pride and joy.

“Do you honestly think I would fall for the same trick twice?” the BLU Spy asked, with a laugh in his throat.

“Heavy doesn’t fall for little man’s tricks,” the Heavy started revving the machine and Ben dropped to the floor. He covered his head as the gun started unloading bullets into the Spy’s body.

He waited for the gun to stop revving. Even after it was done, he was not sure he wanted to get up. He liked being in his own space, far from the actual fighting, so having such a big gun shooting so close to him made him feel a strange and instinctual form of fear. He had to shake himself to realize there was a hand nearby him.

“Sniper is okay?” the Heavy asked, offering his big hand with the palm up.

He accepted the hand, blushing as he got to his feet. It was bad enough that the BLU Spy caught him off guard and the RED Spy guessed his feelings for the Heavy Weapons Guy. Now the Heavy saw him at a weak and pathetic moment in his life.

He cleared his throat, “Thanks mate.”

“Is no problem,” Heavy hefted his gun with a smile, “Will put Sasha back and we can go for drinks.”

He was a bit surprised at the presumptuous sounding offer. Although, he had to admit that it did sound nice. Honestly the Heavy probably did not realize how presumptuous he sounded anyways. It was probably meant to sound like a questioning suggestion.

All the same, Ben smiled and nodded, “Alright. Where would you like to meet up?”

The Heavy rubbed his chin thoughtfully, “Is rec room okay?”

“M-maybe someplace we could talk in quiet?” Ben offered hesitantly, “It’s not…much…but I have chairs and beer out by my truck.”

The Heavy gave him a puzzled look. He seemed unsure about the suggestion. Perhaps it was about why he suggested someplace so quiet and private. Of course, Ben’s mind began to swim with panic as he tried to decide whether to pull out of this idea or proceed with it. If he kept with it and the Heavy did not like it, he risked losing the footing he had already gained with the man.

“Nice to just…have a few beers without Soldier’s shouting or…Scout gabbing,” Ben explained, risking it for this opportunity to have the man alone.

After a few moments, the Heavy nodded, “Da. I will bring some. We will share.”

“A-alright,” Ben hesitated, “Shall I meet you out there?”

“Da, will be a minute,” Heavy said, before tromping off to his quarters.

Ben licked his lip before he hurried off to his camper truck. He was halfway there, when he realized that he had not cleaned up. There were a few beer bottles lying around, and then there was just the general appearance of the place.

He hurried over to grab the bottles, quickly and noisily stashing them away in a trash bin. He opened the door to step inside. There was a chance the Heavy could end up seeing the inside of his vehicle, and in that instance, he needed to have it cleaned up.

He hurried quickly through the camper, tossing out any kind of garbage that might be laying around. He grabbed a dirty rag and wiped away the coffee grinds. No time to waste looking for a clean rag anyways. He just needed the place to look halfway decent before the man who captivated his attention for hours at a time came to see him.

He never imagined that such a big man with such a big voice could be so quiet. Even when he was unencumbered, Ben never imagined he could just sneak right up to the truck and suddenly announce himself with a knock on the wall. He never felt so terrified of somebody being able to sneak up on him.

Even when he was first getting used to the Spies it had not terrified him so much. The discovery that men could disappear from sight and walk on quiet feet? Those men could often be heard by a good ear. Perhaps the Sniper was losing his touch and his hearing was going.

“Sniper?” the big man raised his voice a bit.

His hackles rose with fear and his hide began to tingle. It was time to face the music. Whatever the place looked like to the Heavy was the best that was there.

He hopped out of the truck with a smile, “Wanted to straighten up a couple of things.”

The Heavy smiled back, assuming one of the chairs just outside of the camper. He handed over a bottle, “Heavy doesn’t have glasses, but brought vodka.”

Ben took the bottle, taking in a breath. His eyes shifted from the label to the big man. He was not necessarily the type of looker that looked good on a magazine, with a balding head and his age showing in his face. But those laugh lines were good enough to look at. Not to mention those big ropes of muscle that became prevalent while he was not wearing his vest, especially evident with his sleeves being rolled up. Those arms could wrap around Ben and crack his body with the power of a boa constrictor.

He licked his lips, noticing that he was growing warm and his body was starting to sweat. It could have been the sunshine, but that was only a lie for himself. He knew what he had been looking at and what he had been thinking of.

“I’ve got mugs,” he suggested.

The Heavy nodded again, “Da, is good.”

Everything was good with that man. Ben felt so numb, trembling and trying to get a grip on himself. Being under that gaze he felt so much pressure, yet everything was good with that man.

He fetched a couple of mugs and brought them out to sit down with the Heavy. The following couple of hours was the best time of Ben’s life since he was a young man. Having the man’s undivided attention felt good. Having it in his own space felt even better. It was like everything he ever wanted was just falling together and into place. Things were looking up for Ben.


	11. Sick in Bed with Caretaker Scout

The Heavy returned to his room feeling quite buzzed. It was a good buzz, with good conversation to go with it. Still, things had not gone how Abram had hoped.

He was not entirely sure how he expected things to go. Maybe his drunken mind was just imagining everything in Russian, where he could elaborate on what he meant and what he felt. Maybe they would have had more in common and the Sniper would have been more open to getting to know each other on a personal level.

He did not know the Sniper well enough yet. That did not mean that he did not want to.

“Oh, hey Heavy!” the Scout’s voice caught his attention.

He turned his head before he could react. He was surprised to see the Scout so soon. Given his buzz, he was currently not in any mind space to have the younger mercenary around. He never really drank with Scout, given their talks required him to be more vigilant about English. Sniper took it easy on him though, letting him have time to think and to absorb what was told to him.

“I got another letter,” he waved an envelope in front of Abram, “I was hoping we could chat for a bit.”

Abram hesitated, wincing at the mental effort it would take to keep up with Scout, “Not now, Scout. Is not good time.”

“Eh…um…we don’t have to do that,” Scout put the envelope behind his back, “W-we could just…you know…sit and talk…like…about stuff.” He shrugged as he spoke, his gaze diverting to the side.

Abram winced again. Part of his mind crept up on him, sneaking up from the depths of silence to tell him that he wanted to go spend time with Scout. The rest of him just wanted to lay down.

“I mean…if you’re not busy,” the Scout suddenly started backing out, “I don’t wanna get in your way or anything if you’ve got places to be or things to do.”

Abram sighed. He had really wanted to spend time with the Scout. At the same time, he really need to lay down.

“Heavy does not feel well,” he admitted, hoping he did not have to directly point out that he had been drinking. He felt awkward at the thought of having to explain that he had a few beers with the Sniper. It almost felt wrong in some strange sense.

“Oh…I see,” the Scout hesitated, “Have you seen the doc?”

“Heavy just needs lay down,” he explained simply.

“Oh…well maybe we can still hang out…you could lay down and I’ll sit,” the Scout was speaking rather sporadically, “We…totally don’t have to do that though.”

Abram paused. Maybe he could go with the compromise. Maybe he could have both after all. He nodded, deciding to go along with Scout’s idea.

He gave Scout a nod, “Da, is good.”

Scout perked up, smiling broadly before following Abram into his room. It was the same routine when it came to Scout, as he found himself in his usual chair. It felt a bit different though, as Abram laid down. The change in routine, with Abram laying in a vulnerable position, made it feel really awkward in a way.

“So like…how bad are you feeling?” the Scout asked, “Did you go see the doctor? You could have appendicitis. I heard that’s like really freaking bad. It hurts a lot too. Go to a doctor and they can pull it out before it explodes. Like, I heard it explodes like a bomb.”

“Is not appendicitis, Scout,” Abram assured him.

“Did you eat something bad? If you’ve got a stomachache, my ma used to make me this chicken soup when I was little. I would drink ginger ale with it. It wasn’t the most delicious thing, but I did really like chicken. Anything with chicken is pretty much delicious. Anyways, my ma used to make that for me and I would feel way better afterwards. Do you want me to make you some?”

Abram could not help but chuckle. To be so young and full of energy. He wished he could be that way. Though, he would still not have such a great English vocabulary to keep up and he did not remember being as upbeat as Scout was in his own childhood.

“I’m gonna make you some,” the Scout seemingly took the silence as meaning he wanted that soup.

Abram did not even have time to stop him. He just sort of watched the youth go, arm stretched out to try and call him back. So much for that though.

He flopped back down on the bed, eventually forgetting not to doze off. It just felt better to let his headache fade away into oblivion through sleep. He had almost completely forgotten about his time spent with Sniper because of sleep.

 

Abram was startled awake by the door. Why would the door open though? He always kept his locked and closed. He never left it so that somebody could just walk right in. And who would walk right in? Maybe a Spy?

He raised his head to see Scout, carefully trying to shut the door with half a hand. He chuckled in pleasant surprise. He had all but forgotten about Scout coming back. The younger man had not locked the door behind him, so that he could come right back in.

“So, I may not be as good at this cooking thing as my ma,” Scout admitted, as he set the tray on the nightstand by the bed, “And we didn’t really have any ginger ale. I got some bonk though. Would that suffice?”

Tea would have been a better option. In this case, he was not sure Scout could manage to make tea. He was surprised that Scout could cook soup. That seemed like something beyond his knowledge.

“Water, please,” the Heavy countered.

“Got you covered, buddy!” the Scout revealed a tall glass of water by the soup.

“Thank you,” Abram rumbled, trying to sit up.

“No problem!” Scout grinned from ear to ear.

“You did not have to do this,” Abram said, rubbing his eye sleepily. He really just wanted to rest.

“Nah, it’s no problem!” the Scout smiled up at him.

“Is very nice,” he offered Scout a smile, “Thank you.”

“No problem man!” Scout smiled in return, his eyes alight with such joy that Abram felt his heart flutter, “Don’t even worry about it!”


	12. Heavy Between Two

If not for the food, perhaps he would have passed out while Scout was talking. He managed to use the meal as a way to keep himself distracted from his growing headache and the desire to sleep. The alcohol felt like a siren, trying to sing him into his slumber. He even managed to smile, nod and chuckle to Scout’s words. At least it would not be a one sided conversation.

When Scout finally left, taking the dishes with him, it felt lonesome and quiet. It was strange that Abram was usually used to this kind of solitary situation. After a nice chat with Sniper and some time with the talkative Scout, he felt so alone now.

He laid in the bed, ruminating in the headful of liquor and the bellyful of soup. Sniper was a really nice guy. He had put himself so far out there for Abram. Just to see if he had a chance, or maybe just to get it off his chest. Abram had to admit that the Sniper was the kind of man that most women would like, most women would go for a hardworking man with a calm attitude and the courage to put himself on the chopping block for the sake of love.

Of course, maybe he was reaching there. Maybe it was just lust. Did good things not come out of lust though? Just as Abram could learn to love this man, he figured the Sniper could learn to actually love who he was. There was no doubt that they could meet the middle ground together.

Then there was Scout. Poor, young, naïve and somewhat misguided Scout. Abram did not mind being friends, nor did he worry about the letters. He enjoyed writing to Scout’s mother like something of a hobby. However, every letter just made him think deeper and deeper about this woman’s boy. If he did not know better already, he would have pinned it as some clever scam to trick him into liking Scout.

Still, Scout was likely not interested in men. Not to mention men like Abram. Abram was much older, balding with very little hair left around his crest, and had enough fat to weigh twice as much as the smaller man. Scout was on a whole other level of attractive, and while he bragged about how great he thought he was, he probably did not realize the qualities that people truly valued of him.

That thoughtfulness with bringing him soup to eat was one thing. Scout was as crass as the whole lot of mercenaries, but he somehow held the kindness that his mother seemed to think he did. She raised him well, to have taught him so much about caring for others.

Maybe if this were another world, where men loving men was not a crime of sorts, things could be different. Maybe like the Sniper, he could tell Scout the truth and be done with it. They could move on with friends, if only the Heavy could know what Scout felt about him.

His thoughts came crashing down and his mind shattered like glass. He stared blankly at the ceiling for a long time. He slowly formed the words in the back of his mind, before the fragments created a full thought. He had yet to tell the Sniper how _he_ felt.

He felt so horrible all of a sudden. His body cringed as he realized that he was wanting to know how Scout felt, and all the while he was expecting the Sniper to just know what he felt. How cruel of him.

He huffed a sigh and turned onto his side. He pushed down the queasy feeling in his gut, hoping for a wink of sleep for the night. No need to fuss with work on an empty gut, after all.

“In morning, I want to love,” he said aloud, forming half a thought, before he closed his eyes.

 

The sleep he prayed for came and went in a blink of an eye. Before he knew it, he was being woken by the sound of the trumpet the Soldier was blowing. He hurried to dress and wash his face, so that he could get down to the infirmary. The Medic was probably waiting for him so he could start a morning checkup before field work.

By the time he reached the infirmary, he realized that he had a hangover. Not something serious, but it would be a nuisance throughout the day. He was glad he was going to the Medic, as the man would likely have something just for this.

“Ah! Abram! Nice to see you!” the Medic greeted, in his normally cheery charm.

Abram knew better than to test the Medic though. He respected Medic. Whatever kind of criminal record he might have, he was a genius at what he did. He did not need to be told that he was good at what he did, he just did it.

“Good morning, doctor,” he greeted in turn, trying to ignore the headache resulting from the noise.

“You seem out of sorts this morning,” the doctor gave him a knowing look.

There was always something about the Medic. He always seemed to know things. He always seemed like he was two steps ahead of whatever his teammates were up to. But then, he would find that the Medic just had that way about him. It did not stop him from feeling like the Medic knew what he did the day before.

“I had some drinks yesterday,” he explained, figuring the straightest cut to the truth would satisfy the Medic’s curiosity well enough to keep him from asking deeper questions.

He was glad he did that, because the resulting smile told him that the Medic was plenty satisfied with that answer. He smiled back and followed the Medic as he rambled on about how he thought he could outdrink Abram and that they should drink together some time. Abram simply smiled and nodded, then gratefully accepted the pills handed to him for his hangover. He took them dry, before the doctor remembered that he had a water tank in the infirmary and offered him some to drink.

“You and Herr Sniper enjoyed a few brews yesterday?” the Medic asked, in a giddy tone.

“Er…da…” he hoped his face did not look too red. He tried to cool himself by washing down more cold water.

“Apologies, I just happened to notice you were out there with him,” the Medic noted, still smiling.

Abram cleared his throat, glad that it was the Medic’s perceptiveness that led to him noticing him by the Sniper’s camper. He was not sure he could take a surprise about somebody discovering what he was truly up to. Not that much was going on between them as of yet, but there were plenty of men in this country who would off a man for thinking the way he and Sniper did of other men.

“You seem much more out of your shell lately,” the Medic chirped, clearing off the experiment table for Abram.

He quietly hopped up onto the table and laid down. Medic tended to talk, but usually about his work. Medic never seemed particularly interested in other people. He just always seemed to be off in his own little world. Sometimes Abram wondered if he was insane and should be committed, then he got reminded of the remarkable things the man could do to make the human body stronger.

“Heavy is making friends, maybe,” he commented, hoping the Medic would take that line as it was.

“I’m glad to see it!” the Medic smiled happily.

Abram frowned, concerned that the Medic was showing so much interest in his personal life. It was very odd for the medical professional. He doubted the man knew anything for certain, but he was very suspicious of why the Medic took so much interest in that.

“Doctor seems very happy today,” Abram noted, turning the topic towards the Medic.

“Ah yes!” the Medic smiled broadly at him, “Today is a good day for me!”

“Why? What is good?” Abram asked.

“Nothing in particular,” the Medic replied, “I am also glad for you. You’re getting more acquainted with our coworkers. Sniper tends to…isolate himself. I think you’ll be a very good influence on him!”

“Da,” he felt his face grow flush in spite of himself, “Sniper is good man.”

“Good,” the Medic smiled at him, “I’m glad you’re getting along well.”

He gave Medic a curious look, “Why does doctor have investment in this?”

“No investment!” the Medic responded immediately, “Just some friendly banter!”

Abram rolled his eyes, “Medic is usually type to have reason. Heavy is not fooled.”

“I cannot enjoy the casual drama of life?” the Medic inquired, with a slight tilt of his head, “Listen to this thought. We are alone out here in this place. We are all we have. We are all the entertainment we have. This may be how it is for all of us for ten years. Can you blame me for trying to get more involved with what is going on with the others here?”

Abram hesitated for thought. It was often strange talking to the Medic. At least it was for Abram. Maybe it was just because he did not grasp English as well as the aged German.

“Heavy understands this,” he admitted, “But some people do not want their lives to be your gossip.”

“And your concern has been heard,” the Medic replied.

“Then you will not gossip about Heavy Weapons Guy?” he inquired, suspiciously.

“What fun would there be in that?” the Medic laughed.

“Doctor,” Heavy tried to call his attention back, “This is not funny topic. This is serious.”

“Oh? I thought you were just having drinks with the Sniper,” the Medic had this strangely teasing tone that the Heavy did not like.

“Please, keep to self,” Heavy said.

 

While the Medic had not promised anything, Heavy hoped he took it seriously. It was not as if this were a matter of life and death. It was just a matter of privacy. He doubted that the Sniper wanted the whole base to find out that they were spending time together all of a sudden. Things like that tended to attract the wrong attention.

How that managed to pique the Medic’s interest, he would never know. Especially how it seemed to get his interest more than the fact that the Scout was showing up almost every day at Heavy’s door.

When he arrived at his bedroom door, there Scout was standing, swaying back and forth on his heels. He was not entirely surprised to find him there, but he had not expected him so soon. He had only just had a visit from the Scout the night before.

“Scout is…has letter?” he inquired.

“Uh…” Scout’s face grew a little red with embarrassment, “Well no. Actually…” Scout grew silent for a long while, suddenly too shy to come out and say what he wanted to.

“Scout is going to make Heavy guess?” he asked, a bit irritated at the thought. He did not like it when the youth got the idea of playing the game of guess what is on his mind.

“N-no,” Scout rubbed his neck, “I uh…”

“Scout?” he pressed, hoping to get the answer out of him.

Surely Scout could see that he was tired. He had not done as much as a normal day of work, but it was exhausting to deal with the doctor all day. His pancreas hurt from a strange incident that the Medic did not care to educate him about. His eyes wanted to fall shut and his mind clearly wanted him to just go to sleep.

“I uh…just wanted to hang out,” Scout explained.

Heavy held back a sigh. He was so tired. There was something that really bugged him, urging him to spend time with Scout despite his body’s need for rest. He could not help but offer even just a little smile.

In spite of that smiling part of his mind, the rest of him was just tired, “Scout, I have a little bit of time to spare.” He suppressed a groan, realizing what he was getting himself into.

His tired frustration could not get to him. In fact, he even smiled a little. Looking at how happy that made Scout, he could not bear to think of how crushed he might have otherwise been had Abram refused.

Abram was ready to step inside his room, when Scout grabbed his hand with both hands. Puzzled and otherwise flustered, Abram looked at the hands gripping him. He felt just a little bit surprised, and perhaps a little confused. His mind felt just a tiny bit fuzzy as it tried to wrap around the delightful concept that Scout was holding his hand.

“Come on!” Scout pulled on him, urging him to follow, “I’ve got something to show you!”

He did not begrudge or make a fool of himself by reminding Scout that he was tired. In fact, the hand holding had distracted him from the sensation of exhaustion and he was feeling just a bit more alert. He followed Scout quickly, as they made their way down the hall.

“What is it, Scout?” he asked, wondering how this would play out.

“You’ll see!” Scout replied eagerly.

“Is making Heavy skeptical,” Abram replied.

“Come on! Just let me show you!” Scout pleaded.

“Alright,” Abram conceded as they turned the corner. It seemed like they were headed to the recreation room.

“Not stopping here,” Scout corrected him, as Abram tried to step into the recreation room.

“Where are we going?” he wondered aloud.

“You’ll see!” Scout’s step hastened, “Come on! Come on!”

“Scout, can only walk so fast. Slow down,” he pleaded.

Scout conceded and slowed down a little. He was still walking very quickly though. He was very eager to get wherever his mind was set on getting to. He was not entirely sure what that entailed, but he was sure that it would finally satisfy the young man’s delightful behavior.

They were walking outside towards a big tin building. It was one of the abandoned places, generally empty or used for storage. Nothing too important was kept in these places, since they were difficult to secure. Even with locks, any enemy could sneak in by breaking the wood of the wall.

Abram looked around curiously, noticing just how alone they were. They had been alone together often, so he should not feel so weird about it. Thing was that they were alone out in the open. Anybody could spot them and realize that they were walking together alone.

Not that anybody should be suspicious of them. Nay, nobody had any reason to suspect these two men of anything. In fact, they would think that Heavy was being dragged into an obvious trap. Maybe it was like a prank.

Abram was not about to believe that Scout had suddenly changed the dynamic of their friendship, so he was not going to suddenly distrust him. He put his faith in him. Besides, he looked too excited for this to be some prank.

Scout suddenly released his hand and raced ahead to the building’s door. Heavy moved quickly to try and join him. He made it just in time for the now-unlocked padlock to fall to the ground.

“Here it is!” Scout heaved the door and revealed a dark room inside.

With the bright light outside, it was difficult to see what was in there. Scout stepped in, leading the way to the dimmer lighting, where they could see it all better. Abram was relieved that he no longer had to squint, and immediately became confused.

This building was full of junk. Scrap metal lay strewn from one end to the other. Each side of the building was lined with car and airplane parts. There were signs from old roads and a few stray weapons pieces that he recognized.

“What is all of this?” he hoped for some better explanation than Scout having some weird interest in cars or just junk.

“It’s a plane!” Scout rushed forward to grab a large sheet covering a hunk of metal. He pulled it away to reveal a small aircraft.

Heavy was surprised, thinking he would only see junk. Granted, the machine did not look like it could fly. There was an exposed engine and the front of the thing rested on cinderblocks. Still, it was mostly whole and that meant putting it together was not such a big hassle.

“What do you think? Do you think it could fly? With the right parts put together, I mean,” Scout yammered excitedly.

“You like planes?” Abram asked, bemused at the Scout’s enthusiasm.

“No…well…I mean, this thing could fly…if it could…I mean,” Scout paused to clear his throat, “We could go anywhere we wanted on a holiday with this thing!”

“Is big project,” Heavy grabbed a piece of metal falling off and gave it a wiggle. Its loud screeching metal-on-metal noise was enough to prove his point, “It will take much work to put back together.”

“Yea, that’s why Engie’s working on it!” Scout grinned from ear to ear.

“Engineer is fixing plane?” Heavy asked, “This is his project?”

“Well, it was mine…but uh…I don’t know anything about planes,” Scout shrugged.

Abram scrunched his brow as he thought about it. Sure the Engineer was smart, but he doubted the man knew much about aircrafts. It took an engineer to create a working machine, but it required specific details to make that machine fly. Then again, it never got him anywhere to doubt his teammate, maybe he was adept in the knowledge of airplanes.

“I found all this junk, and I was gonna see if I could fix a car with it,” Scout gestured to some car parts that had too much rust to possibly work in any vehicle ever, “But then I came across this big beauty and I thought about it. Why not?”

“Why not what?” Heavy interrupted Scout’s thoughts.

“Why not have a plane? We’re stuck out here in the middle of nowhere, but what about our families? We don’t hardly get to see them, and it’s not like all of us can just call some private jet to be ready for us,” Scout explained, “Heck! Maybe you could even go see your family in this thing!”

“My family is in Russia, Scout,” Abram reminded him.

“Yea, duh!” Scout responded heartily, “That is why you would want a plane so you could go visit them!”

“Plane this small? Is not possible,” he raised a hand to shut down further insistence of this tripe.

“It totally could! She totally could!” Scout waved his arms around frantically, before gesturing to the run down plane again, “Once this baby is up and running, all of us guys will have our own personal plane to use! It’ll be awesome! And just you wait. When we’re…well…when Engie is finished fixing here, we’ll be flying so far you’ll be amazed what we can see! And listen…listen…we’ll go all the way! You and me, pal! I’ll bet you anything! I’ll bet my life on it! Once this plane is fixed? She is going to take us so many places to see!”

The throb of his headache reminded him that he did not like big noises. Scout’s tone was getting frustrated, his voice was getting louder, and in this room it was beginning to echo. He would do anything, just to quiet the boy down.

“Alright! Alright Scout,” he raised his hands defensively, hoping to calm him down, “Your plane will be great. Will take people to many places.”

“You’re damn right, it will!” Scout exclaimed. He faced Abram squarely, taking on a very defensive stance. “Because, when she’s finished, she is going to take us to Russia!”

“What?” Abram was not expecting that. Perhaps he should have, with all things considered.

“Yea! Me and you! We’re going to Russia!” Scout pointed to the plane again.


	13. A Worried Mother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some more correspondence between Heavy and Scout's mom.

November 29, 1938

Dear A,

How are things going?

Scout tells me that you two are planning a trip to Russia together. He went on and on about getting to go see your homeland and your family. I am excited for him.

If I may be honest though, I am also terrified for him. I know my boy, and while he may be trying, I know he is not going to know any Russian. I do not have to know the language myself to realize this. He will be going into Russia blindly without hardly any understanding of your people’s culture and language.

I don’t mean to sound thoughtless or heartless in any way. I am sure you have such a beautiful country and you would like to share it with him. Just please, for a mother’s sake, watch out for my boy.

You have been a treasure to him these past few months. With each letter he sends I can tell. Before, I still had some doubts, but it has been an obvious change. Scout’s letters to me have become more and more fond of the thought of you with each passing month. He has gone from liking you to being so fond of you that he is willing to go blindly into that unknown country.

Well, I know it is not unknown to you. You are from there. It is a foreign and scary place for him and me though. Especially for me. I am his mother and I worry about him.

For whatever you have planned for this trip, please promise me you will bring my baby back alive.

Now, onto brighter topics.

How are things going there? What have you two been up to aside from the planning a trip to Russia? Are you going to come to Boston at all?

If you ever decide you want to come to Boston to _meet the family_ , then by all means please come! My home is open to you! You’ve been so good to my Scout, that it is the least I could do!

Plus, I am a little jealous that your mother might get to meet my Scout and I haven’t even gotten to meet you! I look forward to meeting you!

I hope you like cupcakes. I have been getting into baking more lately, and I am dying to make you and Scout a batch of frosted cupcakes. I do not think they would make it with that frosting by post though. I will have to stick to sending you my home baked cookies.

That reminds me! Scout says you share your mother’s baked bread with him! That is so sweet of you! I imagine your mother is quite the baker. Her and I have a lot in common, don’t we?

I am sure you are tired of reading all of my long letters, so I will try to keep them short from now on.

Do please come and visit! I miss my baby Scout! I wish he was here for the holidays.

If you ever decide to come home with Scout for a holiday season, I have an open home for you.

Sincerely,  
You can call me mom

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

December 10, 1938

Dear Scout’s mom,

Yes, Scout has gotten some ideas into his head.

This has been of no discussion of mine. I am not even sure where he got this idea from. He concocted it on his own, as he surely did not get it from me.

We have not yet decided whether those are sound plans yet or not. I do not think that the travel plans are very well thought through. There will be plenty of time for that though.

In the event that Scout and I did go to Russia together, I will watch out for him. I promise you, just as I would promise my mother, that I will protect him and watch out for him.

Scout does miss home a lot. I’m sure he will be coming home for the holidays. I will probably not be joining him. I work during holidays.

I hope all is well.

Thank you for the lovely cookies!

Sincerely,  
A

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A is for Abram, but she doesn't know that.  
> This correspondence is getting awkward for the poor guy, given his feelings right now.


End file.
